The Golden Scar
The brass compass sat in Elias Thorne’s palm, its face cracked but still holding north with a stubborn, mechanical loyalty that felt like a lie. He was thirty-four, a Border Enforcement Officer in the Northern Sector, and the weight of the object was the only thing keeping his hands from trembling as the automated drones hummed to life overhead. The purge had begun at dusk, a nightly ritual of...
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